Why am I like this? Why can’t I just be normal, sit here, drink, and laugh with them?Why does everything feel like a threat, like a trap, and the whole damn world is pressing a knife to my throat and daring me to move? Do they really think that I will cower? The shadows twitch closer, their writhing motions forcing bile to rise up the back of my throat, and I can’t tell anymore if they’re in the room… or in me.You’re broken, unstable, useless,they hiss.
I push over to the sofa, forcing my unsteady feet to carry me forward, and everyone scatters like cockroaches. The black coffee table surface is covered in a fine powder, beckoning to me, promising a break from the bleakness. Oblivion calls myname, and I don't hesitate to answer. My eyes water, as I drop the rolled-up bill on the table's surface and pinch my nose. The sour chemical taste runs down the back of my throat, as my body begins to feel the combination of the drugs and alcohol I've been steadily consuming for the last hour. Still, I know it’s not enough, it never will be. Death is a blessing and a mercy I don’t deserve.
When Cross said we could play with Olivia, he neglected to state that we’d have to wait for darkness to settle. At first, I was enraged, and landed a punch to his entitled, bossy jaw to soothe some of my dissatisfaction with him, and the way he's preventing me from getting what I want, what I fucking crave more than the drugs I'm snorting up my nose. I know that my temper is getting the better of me more and more lately. It seems that everything is triggering my wrath and depravity, and I have to keep feeding the monster within me with violence, and drugs, to keep him at bay and myself numb. It was only when he hit me back that I truly felt alive. Then it was game on, and I let my beast loose, raining blows down on him, and it took River and one of our hanger-oners to yank me off of him.
To say Cross is currently pissed at me would be an understatement. He's sulking like a fuming bitch in the armchair in the corner. His jaw's already blooming with the beginning of a bruise, while some coke whore from town sucks his cock like an overpriced Dyson vacuum. I meet his glare and don't flinch. If he wants to go again, I'll gladly break that pretty-boy jaw of his, best friend or not. The bastard grabs a fistful of the girl's dark hair, and forces her to take him to the back of her throat, until the possibility of her breathing is null and void, as his mocha-colored eyes stare into mine, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a taunting way.Fucking cunt.
"Ignore him. The two of you are beginning to get on my damn nerves. Can't we go a day without you beating on anyone,Damon?" A disgruntled voice tears my attention away from Cross. River throws his long, muscular body into the seat next to me, on the sofa in the Kappa Seven house. I fucking hate this place, and resent any time we have to spend here. None of us actually live in the fraternity, despite having rooms here, and being so-called'leaders'of the fellowship.Leaders,yeah, we'll lead you to your death if you follow us, is more like it. There's no way any of the three of us would have pledged if we weren't legacies, and Cross' father hadn't insisted. What Gerald Weyburn wants, he gets, or you die, plain and simple, and I have no intentions of ending my life prematurely, despite my violent ways. Never mind giving my father the satisfaction of being rid of me.
"He fucking started it." I rest my thick arms on my chest and subtly give Cross the finger, which only makes his deranged smirk more prominent, as the girl starts to struggle against his hold, and he doesn't relent.
"No, he didn't. You've been on a rampage all week. You looking to get arrested, and on Gerald or your dad's radar, 'cause the way you're going, it's a given, asshole?" River reaches forward and snorts a line of coke with a grimace.
I grind my molars, to prevent answering him with where he can shove his opinion. Releasing a deep, weary sigh, I beckon one of the pledges to bring me a beer as I scoot lower in my seat, my dark hair hiding some of my face from those staring at me, with curiosity and awe.Fucking leeches.
The drugs are finally hitting me, as I place my dirty combat boots on the coffee table like an asshole. I know River's right; he watches everything like a hawk. While Cross might be the planner, and de facto leader, of our merry group of psychos, River is the playmaker. He sees everything, and he's already planning ten miles ahead to what's going to happen, in that dark and deranged little mind of his. I'm the muscle, and the guy yousend out when you need people to shit their pants in fear. If you see me coming for you, it's already too late to run. The three of us have been best friends since the cradle. All three of our fathers are part of the Mayhem legacy, and have been friends since childhood. Only mine and Cross' father are left now, after River's dad took a bullet to the head, during a weapons smuggling firefight with another rival gang. How I wish daily it had been my miserable sire instead. Unfortunately, Karma and fate are two bitches that hate me, and together they work to fuck me up the ass without lube daily.
I take a huge gulp of the beer, and look around the common room at the rich, privileged maggots that fall to their knees whenever one of us looks in their direction. Here at Soule University, we're at the top of the food chain. Nothing happens without our knowledge or approval. Our families have run this campus ever since our fathers were students. When we were old enough to head off to college, there was no doubt where we were expected to go, regardless of our wishes. There hadn't been a direct descendant attending for many years since Cross's older brother, and that fucker's no longer breathing, thanks to an unfortunate incident where his mouth bit off more than his fists could handle.
"Damon, are you even listening to me?" River kicks at my feet with annoyance, and I realize my thoughts have rambled once again, and I've blocked out everything around me. It's been happening to me more and more. One minute, I'm conscious of everything transpiring around me, and in another, I'm in some void where I'm no longer alert. Don't even get me started on the voices I'm hearing, and the things I'm beginning to see that apparently aren't truly there, like the deep, menacing shadows surrounding Cross' chair, ready and waiting to devour him.
I gulp down more beer, needing to drown all of it out, so it doesn't cause me to lose what's left of my disintegrating mindas my heart races in my chest, and my body breaks out in a cold sweat. "I'm listening, I just don't have shit to say," I growl. Honestly, I haven't heard a word he's uttered since he mentioned mine and Cross' dads. I watch with trepidation as one of the sinister shadows strokes at Cross' hair, as he tilts his head back against the seat and cums down the whore's throat.Get it together, asshole.I drag my trembling hand down my face, hoping that when I look again, I won't see them anymore, but it's no use. There they are, looking like they're caressing Cross' face now, softly and tenderly, like a lover's embrace.
I have to get the hell out of here, before I kill someone in this room in a rage-induced episode. The moaning voices are calling my name again, beckoning me sweetly to come to them, so they can destroy me. I throw the empty bottle across the room, and it smashes with a crash against the nearest wall, causing fraternity members to scatter like rodents, and girls to shriek.
"Real classy, motherfucker." River scowls at me out of the corner of my eye, as he takes a long drag of his red cherry blunt with annoyance at my antics.
"The only one of us fucking mothers around here is you, River. Make sure you tell mine that she's a whore from me, when you're balls deep inside of her next time." Do I actually think River is fucking my mom?Not a chance.He looks at her like one does a saintly virgin. Do I know it pisses him off to no end when I insinuate that he is?A hundred fucking percent,it's why I do it. I live to get under his pretty skin, well, that and to mark it with my fingerprints.
I roll my eyes and get to my feet, scanning for anyone that I can use to distract me from the shadows that are once again floating in my direction.Fuck! Why don't they leave me alone?I swat at one closing in on me, and watch as a girl's eyes grow large with fear and horror. Shit, I look crazy right now, because they can't see them.Fuck. My. Miserable. Life.I turn quickly away,after baring my teeth like a feral wolf at her, and watching her cower against the wall.
"You! Come with me." I grab Dalton, one of the new pledges, by the arm. He jerks wildly as he tries to pull away with shock, but I dig my fingers into his meaty, sweaty flesh. My voice is raw, shaking, but it comes out like a vicious snarl. He laughs nervously, like he thinks I’m joking, but I’m not. The shadows shift, and one stretches long across the floor, almost touching my shoes, igniting a fiery rage that blurs and blazes, savage and blinding. If he doesn’t move, I’ll drag him. Hell, I'll smash his head in right now, and paint the walls with his blood.
Then I see her, a girl by the counter, wide-eyed, trying to disappear into her drink.Perfect. Pretty. Unlucky.The darkness is curling closer, thicker, suffocating until I can’t breathe. I point at her, snapping my fingers like she’s a dog. “You too. Come on. Now.” She hesitates, and I can feel the shadows pulsing, reaching, laughing at me, mocking me. My chest seizes with fury. “NOW! GODDAMMIT!”
There are too many bodies, and too much noise, filling this space. The walls are sweating, closing in, breathing down my neck. The coke didn’t quiet them, the alcohol hasn't drowned them. There's even more shadows crawling and spilling from corners, dripping from the ceiling like thick black tar, reaching for me with fingers made of smoke. I can’t stay here.I won’t.They want to destroy me, to hurt me. They’ll eat me alive if I let them. My skin feels too tight, it's crawling with imaginary insects I can’t see, and the music keeps pounding, like it’s hammering me into the floor. Laughter cuts sharply, slicing into my skull, and I can’t tell if it’s theirs or the shadows’. My pulse is racing faster than my thoughts, and my thoughts are on fire.Scattered. Burning. Screaming.Out. I need out.
"Damon!They need to bebreathingwhen I check on them. Do you hear me, fucker?!" River calls after me, but I don't care. My priority is to get the hell out of this room.
I don’t care where we’re going, only that it’s away from here. Away from the heat, the noise, and the crawling black smoke. If I’m not alone, if I’ve got them with me, the shadows can’t take me. I’ll make damn sure of it. I shove through the crowd, dragging Dalton, snapping at the girl until she follows. I don’t look back. I won’t. The shadows want me weak, afraid, alone, but I’ve got them now, and I’ll bend them to my will before the darkness bends me.
CHAPTER 9
DAMON
Istroll into my fraternity room, followed closely by my two unwilling sacrifices, and slam the door shut with a bang, leaving my trailing shadows momentarily on the outside. "Strip and get on the bed," I demand as I push the abandoned clothes off the surface of the mattress, and they land in a heap on the floor. They look at each other before tearing at their clothes. I can smell the fear wafting off them, and it brings me immense satisfaction. They're both terrified, but also excited to have my attention. It remains to be seen if they'll still be breathing when I'm done with them.
"What's your name?" I stare at the girl with pretty blonde extensions that I'm going to rip out when I fist her hair. She stares back at me, with large blue eyes that remind me of cherubs you see in those Italian Renaissance paintings in museums. Not that I've been to many, but River likes art, so he's constantly showing me posts of this piece or that, and I feign interest for him.
"Gizzelle," she mumbles with a squeak, as I reach out and pinch her pink, erect nipple ruthlessly, staring down her form at what I'm working with.
"Gizzelle?Sounds like a stupid name. Are you stupid, pretty girl?" I question as I strip off my clothes and stroke my hard, tattooed cock, pulling on my Prince Albert piercing, while she licks her lips, her eyes zeroed in on it like a deer in headlights. “Well?” I demand, as I use my thumb to spread a bead of precum around my engorged crown.
"Huh? Uh... no," she gasps as I slap her breast hard, leaving behind a red imprint.
"Good, 'cause I hate stupid people. They end up dying around me." I slap her other breast just to hear her squeak again, and watch as the bitch trembles and locks her knees tight. I'd bet good money she's soaked right now, that is, if I were a betting man, but I don't trust fate or luck not to fuck me over. "Get on the bed on your knees, spread them wide, and play with your clit." I direct her, before turning to the asshole in the room.
“You," I point my finger at the asshole, who’s salivating, and stroking his cock through his boxers. "What the fuck is your name, cunt?" I know the fucker’s name, but I want his attention on me. He needs to understand that I'm the one in charge here, and he only gets a taste if I say so. He only stays breathing if I allow it. He pries his eyes with difficulty away from Gizzelle as she gets on the bed, and follows my instructions like a good little slut.
